想い - Feeling, thought, imagination (omoi or sou)
by Always RuroKen
Summary: You imagine what it would be like to confess to him, to tell him everything you feel about him and ask if he will accept you. And he would put a hand on the side of your face and kiss you gently on the lips, struggling to formulate an answer. And you imagine that when the two of you break apart he smiles slightly and says, 'You're late.' (Second Person POV A/M pairing)
1. Chapter 1

You imagine what it would be like to confess to him, to tell him everything you feel about him and ask if he will accept you. And he would put a hand on the side of your face and kiss you gently on the lips, struggling to formulate an answer. And you imagine that when the two of you break apart he smiles slightly and says, ' _You're late_.'

You imagine what it would be like if his eyes met yours when you sneak glances at him over dinner. How he would raise an eyebrow, slight amusement in his icy blue eyes - those eyes that you love so much. How you know you would blush and look away, and Okon would poke you in the ribs, but you would look back and meet his eyes as he looked at you - and you would see him smile so slightly that you would wonder if you imagined it.

You imagine what it would be like if you could wake up next to him every morning and you would mutter ' _Good morning_ ' before he would stand up and dress, and amusedly chide you for lazing around on the futon - and how you would complain that you were tired - and how he would raise an eyebrow and say, ' _I know_ '. How, at breakfast Okina would make rather questionable jokes – but you wouldn't pay attention, because under the table, your hand was enveloped in his – and you would almost choke when Shiro asked you what was wrong, as you knew you would be staring into space with the happiest smile on your face – not daring to look sideways at his amusement. ' _N-nothing!_ ' you would stammer and continue shoveling food into your mouth as long fingers traced patterns on the back of your hand under the table.

You imagine what it would be like if he kissed you or you kissed him. You know that his lips would be bitter from all the green tea that he drinks, but you are imagining a kiss with _him_ and that alone would make in all the more sweet – sweeter than any candy.

You imagine what it would be like if when the two of you trained, you would finally be able to pin him down onto the ground, but he would addle your thoughts with a kiss - and then chide you for being distracted when he has you pinned a few seconds later. And you know, outside of imagination, that the only times you could win against him when you spar is when he lets you – but that never stops you from trying.

You imagine what it would be like if when you brought his tea in, his eyes would be trained on _you_ instead of the teapot, and when you had poured his tea you would sit down beside him and lean against his shoulder, a book in your hands – and you two would just _sit_ there, reading in silence, sharing each other's warmth and occasionally wondering aloud if dinner was going to be soon, or ' _My arm's falling asleep, lay in my lap_ '.

You imagine what it would be like to be so just… _casual_ with him. Your breath would no longer catch when he stood close to her and you would no longer blush when his hand brushed yours – because you were so _used_ to him and those hands would have done _much_ more… _Interesting_ things to you at that point.

You imagine what it would be like to wear a heavy yet beautiful wedding kimono that you knew you could not fight in. How you would feel knowing that you were getting married - and _he_ was the groom. How happy your friends would be for you, how surprised everyone except for Okina would be – and how he would not be able to stop cracking _completely_ questionable jokes after the ceremony and how you would blush – and later, when you are alone with him you would realize that all the jokes were completely on point.

You imagine what your wedding bed would be like and how achingly gentle he would be – and how you would say, ' _Mou, Aoshi-sama, I'm not made of glass, you know_ '. How his chest was a map of scars – and as you trace the lines with you lips it would become a map to _him_ and how your hands would grip his shoulders (oh so wide) and how his voice would sound next to your ear, gruff and strained and _wanting_ as he gasped out your name and you gasped out his.

You imagine what it would be like to watch him sleep beside you, the only light being the moonlight seeping through the shoji and how _beautiful_ he would look, and how proud you would feel that he was _yours_ \- and he was letting his guard down enough around you to show you this side of him. How the moonlight would cast shadows on his angular face and how his inky black hair would spread across the pillow.

You imagine what it would be like to pin your hair up as a married woman and how you two would stand side-by-side in the kitchen of the Aoiya, talking about _anything at all_ or not really talking, but it'd be a comfortable silence, the kind you'd have come to enjoy with him.

You imagine what it would be like to confess to him – but you know you can never do it because the pain in his eyes when you smile at him, and the aching gentleness in his gaze when he thinks you're not looking is enough of a plea.

He's saying, ' _Please don't._ '

He's saying, ' _I don't think I can do this._ '

He's saying, ' _If you do not love me as I love you, then it would be easier for me to look away and tell you that I am not right for you – and tell you to find someone else who has not been broken and put together as many times as I have – strayed into the darkness as many times as I have._ '

He's saying, ' _I love you._ '

And he's saying, ' _I'm sorry_.'

So you try to smile.

You bring him his tea every afternoon.

You _imagine_.


	2. Chapter 2

You imagine what it would be like to tell her your feelings, to confess to her, betray yourself to her. How her large sea-green eyes would widen and how she would bring a hand to her mouth with a surprised giggle turning into a choked whisper of your name. How soft those small pink lips would be. How she would grin and tell you, ' _Finally!_ '

You imagine what it would be like to wake up next to her every single morning, to have her wake with a sleepy moan and break into a smile. How she would throw the window open and then stumble back, unbalanced, so lithe and skilled yet somehow endearingly clumsy. You imagine her saying ' _Good morning!_ ', always so _happy_ , and then she would sit with her back to you and you would run your fingers through her hair and then braid it.

You imagine what it would be like if you glanced into her room as you passed by on the way to breakfast and she would throw her shorts at you and laughingly call you a pervert while you rolled your eyes and told her to hurry up – and maybe not keep the door open so wide – not that you minded. And then, giggling, she would throw another article of clothing that you would dodge and then fold gently outside her room, sliding the door shut more, heading down to breakfast with a slight smile.

You imagine what it would be like to walk through town, and she would grab your hand excitedly and drag you around to look at things that she seems to think she's seeing for the first time. How, if it by some chance started raining you two would duck under any awning, panting and dripping wet – and she would just laugh and laugh and you would watch her wring the water out of her sleeves and smile inadvertently at the concentrated face that she has. You find it cute.

You imagine what it would be like to lay in her lap as she read aloud to you. Outside of imagination you have always liked her voice (when she was not screeching for one reason or another). How, if she stuttered or read too fast, you know you wouldn't care and how you would lift the book and plant a light kiss on her lips when she's not expecting it – because that light blush on her cheeks is something that only _you_ can produce and you know you would feel _so_ ridiculously proud.

You imagine what it would be like, when she brought you tea she would stay for longer than she usually does and then she'd surprise you with a kiss. You can imagine what her lips would feel like under yours, how she would grin at you letting down your guard and then wink and pour you tea, impishly pretending that nothing had happened as you try to get your breath back and your heart to beat slower and less loud. And you would shake your head, because only _she_ could do this to you – and then you would try to hide a smirk, because you _know_ you'll pay her back double for this and render her shaking and unable to move by next morning.

You imagine what it would be like to work up the courage to propose to her, to spend long nights thinking about the correct phrasing, about whether it should be serious and romantic, or something soft and sweet – maybe a little ridiculous? Would you say something clichéd or would you try to come up with something that really _tries_ not to sound clichéd – but actually does – painfully so. You probably would, you think.

You need not imagine how the ones in Tokyo would be so happy for you, how Sagara would be much too lewd, how awkward and disbelieving Yahiko would be, how overly emotional Kamiya and Himura would be and how Takani would already be readying herself for delivering a child. You imagine how flushed and happy she would be when all of those people rush upon the two of you with congratulations.

You imagine what your wedding bed would be like, how she would look, panting and moaning beneath you, her lithe body arching and her lips parting with sweet gasps and her eyelashes fluttering. How she would feel against you, how soft her skin would be – but you knew that she had many more scars than she let on – yet you would kiss every single one. How _playful_ she would be, and how you would barely be able to keep ahold of your sanity when the mere _thought_ of it would send you over the edge.

You imagine what it would be like to watch her sleep beside you, how she would move and mutter, restless in sleep as she is awake, how she would look with the early morning sunlight softening her already soft features and how you would stroke her hair, careful not to wake her because she looks so peaceful and achingly beautiful.

You imagine what it would be like if when you were in the Aoiya's kitchen – and she was out there serving customers – how you would watch her as you always do, but when she turns around to look at you, you do not look away – you smile slightly at her and she smiles back. How she would come back and tease you about it, ' _Oh you're so in love with me, aren't you!'_ , and how you would fluster her in return, how she would grab a few more trays and stand on tiptoe, kissing you on the cheek before running back out, always with that grin – and how Okon would roll her eyes and hide a smile.

You imagine what it would be like to tell her how you feel – but you cannot, for the eager, trusting look in those beautiful sea-green eyes is one that you, with everything you have done, _to_ her and everywhere else know you do not deserve, and you wonder if she even _tries_ to hide that she loves you when you beg her not to – for it would be so much easier to reject her if she did not smile at him like that, if she did not look at him like that.

She's saying, ' _I love you so much – more than anything else in the world!_ '

She's saying, ' _Hey, Aoshi-sama, why won't you look at me?_ '

She's saying, ' _Don't you think I can tell what you feel? That you love me? I always will love you, no matter what you've done to me, because you came back to me. I waited – and you came back._ '

She's saying, ' _I love you_.'

And she's saying, ' _I'll wait – no matter how long it takes._ '

So you let her bring you tea every day.

You treat her as if there is no-one besides her in the world – yet you dare not approach her.

You _imagine_.


	3. Chapter 3

You have no idea what to do when you hear her shift and sleepily groan in the room across from yours. When she tosses and turns and you can hear her cry out as if she's having a nightmare. No. She _is_ having a nightmare but you are too big a coward to go and check. She gives a final terrified gasp and you are already up and about to open your door because you just _can't_ listen to her like that anymore – and damned be the consequences. And you realize – as you can hear her covers shifting and she shoots up, panting – she had called out your name.

You have no idea what to do when she's panting like that, sounding so scared and _broken_ – when she's having a nightmare because of _you_ – and you dare not approach her because… Would that not only make it worse? Or are you being cowardly again because you cannot face her?

You have no idea what to do when you hear her stand up and slide open her door. You don't know what _you are supposed to do when_ she takes such _slow, unsure steps towards you room_. But you still do not open the door even as she is standing in the hallway, so close.

If there was no door between you and her, you could reach out and brush her hair away from her face.

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You can see his shadow on the other side of the door. He is standing with his face cast down, his hand ready to slide it open but trembling slightly. Your heart soars for a moment as you think that he would be there to comfort you. You take a shaky breath. ' _I dreamt that you were gone again_.'

You can see his shadow move quickly, his head shooting up and a slight gasp making his shoulders move up and down very quickly. He is silent and you wonder for a moment if he wants nothing more but for you to just leave, but you step closer, until you are almost an inch away from the door, an inch away from _him_. You can almost _feel_ his warmth through the paper and the wood and you smile slightly because you're happy. ' _But when I woke up…_ ' you say. ' _You were right here, Aoshi-sama._ '

You can see his shadow turn to face you through the door and you put a hand up and place it on the slightly translucent paper. He seems so close to you – yet so far away from you and you want nothing more than to have absolutely no distance between you and him at all. But that door keeps you away from him. _His_ door. The door he was so close to opening just now. You can see him look down a little, his bangs falling forward. And then there is his hand pressed against where yours is resting on the paper of his door and you can feel his warmth. He speaks. ' _I will not leave. I cannot leave. This…_ ' he trails off, suppressed emotion in his voice. ' _Misao… I… I apologize_.'

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You cannot think of anything to say, so many things wanting to come out all at once. You know that a simple apology is not enough, that nothing you do will ever be enough. ' _I'm sorry._ ' But apologizing is all you can do. What else could you do? You ask yourself. What else?

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Your voice shakes a little and you promise both yourself and him that you will not cry. ' _Then why the door?_ ' It's not just the door in front of you. It's his door. The door that he made for himself – the one that shuts in front of his beautiful blue eyes every time you call out for him.

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' _I… Was going to go to you. But you woke up and it was no longer necessar-_ '

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' _Please open it…_ ' you say. ' _If only for a moment_.' Your voice shakes again and you are powerless to stop it.

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You cannot stand this. The door… You were going to open it – even if it killed you, damn it. You were going to open the door. She had just _begged_ you. The door would be open and damn the consequences.

You cannot stand this, so you open the door.

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You are surprised when he opens the door so quickly that it hits the frame with a loud rattle, sounding so sharp in the tranquil night. He had just opened his door to you.

You are surprised when you see his eyes, so sad, so gentle so… _Loving_? You smile slightly. _Ah, so that's what that look means_ , you think.

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You see her. Really see her. Not just _her_ , standing there with an unkempt braid and too-small sleep yukata that's slipping off her shoulders. You see her – everything you've been trying to run away from. And then, instead of starting to run away again, instead of retreating into your shell again and closing the door, you step closer. ' _Misao…_ '

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You see him. Truly see him. Not just _him_ , standing there with wide eyes and somehow immaculate sleeping yukata, breathing quickly. You see what, _who_ you've been chasing after all this time. And then instead of beginning to chase after his retreating back, you let him come to you. ' _...Aoshi-sama._ '

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You _move_ , rationality, calculatedness and impersonality having no place in your actions. You simply move because you want it, because she wants it, because moving is all you can do.

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You feel his warmth from inches away, so close that your clothing is touching but not your bodies. You will see things through to the end, because you want it, and finally he wants it too. He wants _you_.

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She is the first to reach for you, to grab you by the front of your yukata with a strange jerky movement, to pull you to herself, then to stand on tiptoe and press her mouth gently, unsurely to yours. She has no idea what she is doing, but at the same time she has every idea. And you let her.

She is the first to push you over your own threshold then follow soon after, stumbling in the almost impenetrable darkness of the room, and all you can see is her.

You want it to stay that way always. To be able to see each other with no inhibitions, to be able to truly look at each other.

Her name tastes sweet on your lips. ' _Misao…_ '

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He is the first to pull away, and you are about to protest when you do not because you realize that he's only pulling away to kiss you more and to adjust his hold on you, to col his arm around your waist and draw you even closer. He does not take charge completely, but he guides you. And you let him.

He is the first to pull you down onto the futon somewhere in the stifling darkness, as he leans over top of you, the front of his yukata gaping open, all you can see is him.

You want it to stay that way always. To be able to see each other with no inhibitions, to be able to truly look at each other.

His name is the only thing you can gasp out. ' _…Aoshi-sama!_ '

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 ** _With this – you will never have to resort to the weakness of imagination._**


End file.
